


One Day At a Time

by starfleetblues



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Jack Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfleetblues/pseuds/starfleetblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day at a time- that's how Jack Zimmermann has always taken things. Until Eric Bittle shows up at Samwell and Jack falls in love with him and wants to spend every day with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day At a Time

**Author's Note:**

> lmao i'm starting this more than an hour past the first day but heyyyyyy i'm trying oops  
> anyway i think this will ultimately just mainly be a character study of jz because i relate a scary amount to him but also plenty of zimbits fluff thrown in bc i'm nice

Jack has always liked the ice best in the early morning. At home, his dad driving with only the radio to break the silence in the faint predawn late, Jack secretly harbored an excitement to be on the ice, even though his father was only capable of driving thanks to the coffee he drank as he drove. At Samwell, crossing the sleeping campus, barely any movement save him, the trees, and the occasional car, it feels like a whole different world. Stepping into Faber, where the only noise is the echo of his footsteps and the doors closing solidly behind him, Jack feels at peace, and when he steps onto the pristine ice, he feels like he can _breathe_ , for once. He spent two years making the silent journey alone- to skate, to run drills, to practice his stick handling, and sometimes, just to stand on the ice and take it all in. And then, when Jack had formed a routine, the routine his therapist had encouraged, Bittle almost fainted at the prospect of being checked. Jack knew, that as captain, he should invite the small frog to skate with him in the mornings, use his ice time to help someone other than him- but he didn’t know if he’d be able to breathe, because Bittle was energetic and happy and bright and _pure_ , and Jack didn’t want to break him. He was harsh, he knew, on the kid, so he tried to make up for it by offering the practice, and then, two years and a month into his routine, it changed. He had someone to meet halfway to Faber and walk in silence with. There was another set of footsteps to echo in the otherwise empty rink. They did the same thing every morning- it was never exactly the same, but it was always the same idea. And Jack found that he could almost breathe better with a companion- with Bittle. Somewhere, something in the back of his mind, Jack thought almost that it was similar to the mornings he had spent on the ice with Kent before the rest of the team arrived, just skating around and shooting pucks and laughing, except that Bittle was everything Kent wasn’t, Bittle was pure and good and wonderful and shone light on everything he looked at. Jack pushed that voice aside- he had to focus on hockey, on the draft, on his classes. He didn’t have time for Bittle outside of hockey.

Except the year went on, and Bittle seemed to be everywhere Jack turned. He was in the Haus more than his own dorm room, he left baked treats scattered throughout the kitchen and cooked dinner for the team at least once a week, and he cleaned things that probably hadn’t been cleaned since well before the team moved in. And Jack began to relax, because the kid was fast and a damn good winger and then- then he got hit, and all Jack could think about was getting off the ice because even if he wasn’t hurt, he was probably terrified and upset and it was all Jack’s fault and Jack couldn’t breathe. He was vaguely aware of Shitty skating over and putting an arm around him, vaguely knew he should go sit down, but he couldn’t make his legs function the way he wanted them to.

And Bittle, sweet little Bittle who had made the team so much better in ways they had never anticipated, he was okay. Jack just kept repeating that to himself the whole summer he spent at home in Montreal, but he still couldn’t breathe some mornings on the ice, he was no longer used to being alone. And then he flew back to Logan and met Shitty and Lardo at the airport, and it seemed like everything would be okay because he heard that Bittle was already moved into the Haus and had been cleared for skating and they were all going to be okay.

Bittle’s fear of checking had returned, worse than ever, and Jack hadn’t been expecting anything else. Bittle still hadn’t given any explanation of where it came from, and Jack knew he had been harsh about it being solely mental- he of all people knew that mental issues were incredibly difficult to overcome- and Jack made an effort to be more patient. He knocked on Bittle’s door every morning and softly called out to make sure he was awake before starting a pot of coffee and carrying his own gear downstairs. He didn’t push Bittle farther than he could handle, and he actually found himself becoming friends with Bittle. And more routines were established- they had a class together on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so they would head back to the Haus to shower and grab their backpacks before heading to Annie’s for another cup of coffee and going to their seminar. Some Fridays, when Jack was done with class and would return to music blasting from the kitchen as Bittle baked, he would try to help out or wash dishes and return supplies no longer in use. Some Fridays, he just sat in the kitchen and listened to Bittle hum along while he worked on his thesis. He found himself really enjoying sharing the space Bittle commanded when they made a pie for their seminar together, and for the first time in months, he thought he was actually happy. And even when Kent came along and messed Jack up, he tried to keep his routine going. He got up and knocked lightly on Bittle’s door, but his voice cracked when he tried to ask if Bittle was awake. He poured coffee into two travel mugs, but his hands shook like they hadn’t in years. They shook when he laced up his skates at Faber, and Bittle seemed to understand they wouldn’t be checking that morning, and allowed Jack to skate lazy circles in the center of the rink before joining him and offering to show Jack a few of his jumps to take his mind off of things.

Jack shouldn’t have been surprised that Bittle snuck a bag of cookies into his duffel bag, but it was a pleasant one. A reminder that he had people who really cared about him.

His final spring semester passed in a blur, and Jack didn’t remember everything that he wanted to. He didn’t remember all of the late practices and the games they lost, the games he could have done better in. He remembered the early morning walks with Bittle, a snowball fight they all had when classes were canceled for a blizzard, Bittle sleeping on his shoulder on the bus back to Samwell from the game at Harvard. He remembered Bittle proudly sitting an apple pie on the table one day while Jack was finishing up his thesis and declaring it would be Jack’s favorite due to the maple in the crust, Shitty proclaiming them to be best bros forever while more than a little tipsy, and he remembered Ransom and Holster chasing the frogs around the backyard when it became warm enough for Bittle to allow them to fill up the squirt guns. He didn’t remember falling in love with Bittle, but he remembered realizing it. He remembered sprinting across campus, remembered the feel of Bittle’s lips on his for the first time, remembered the anxiety building in his chest as Bittle didn’t respond, and then disappearing faster than it ever has before as Bittle reached up on his tiptoes to kiss Jack back. He remembered the important things. He remembered the look of disappointment on Bittle’s face as his phone buzzed and Jack remembered that he was supposed to be driving down to Providence so he could skate with some of the team in the morning.

He remembered the way the ice felt with Bittle by his side before the sun rose. It felt like home, like a place that Jack could stay forever and be able to breathe and live in peace and comfort.

Somehow, the ice in Providence didn’t quite feel the same. It seemed like a good thing to send Bittle as the text Jack owed him.

In Georgia, Eric sleepily hit at the alarm on his phone telling him it was time to run. He stretched and wondered briefly where his running shoes were, and decided the shoes could be unearthed from a box after a cup of coffee. He opened his messages while the pot began brewing, and smiled. Jack hadn’t said as many words, but Eric knew that his maybe-boyfriend missed him. He typed out “miss you too, getting ready for a run. Hope the skate went well, maybe I can call you later” and hit send before retrieving the Samwell Hockey mug he had already unpacked with his kitchen supplies and mulling over where he could have packed his running shoes as he drank his coffee.


End file.
